THE TIME

Time is everywhere and nowhere at once.

In a bouquet of roses or in our beating hearts.

A closed door that was just opened.

A piece of paper that we hear being torn.

He is in our thoughts, I hear him running.

And from the truth he will come to feed us.

He does not tell us all because he has his vision.

Could we sometimes be right.

Mysterious, elusive, but only moves forward.

We don't understand it, we can't touch it.

He probably can, we will never understand.

The engravings that he leaves one fine morning in May.

But with certainty the time is counted.

It is no less valuable for moving forward.

The Past in the Present will become our future.

We will have to ask him to make it last.